


In Between the Sets

by Bouncey



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emo Jaskier, Famous Jaskier | Dandelion, Fanboy Geralt, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Still a Witcher, Getting Together, Groupie Geralt, Jaskier with Eyeliner, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier's Massive Top Energy, M/M, Punk Geralt, Shy Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, The Continent but it's Warped Tour 2005, mindless self indulgence - Freeform, my chemical romance - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28013118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouncey/pseuds/Bouncey
Summary: Jaskier is the lead singer of Geralt's favorite alt rock band (and the Witcher's secret crush), and Geralt has been following them on tour for a couple months.He never expected Jaskier to notice him, much less invite him backstage and offer to kiss him silly.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 80





	In Between the Sets

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, their lyrics are only MCR and MSI songs. But that's just because I was feeling emo and nostalgic.

Geralt squinted into the darkness, trying to see whether or not the band was on stage yet; the press of bodies and drumming club music overwhelmed his heightened senses and left him as clueless as every other mortal. His silent question was answered moments later when a loud guitar riff blasted through the venue, quickly followed by another, slightly louder riff. Once the tune had developed a bit, two drum beats echoed out into the dark space and the lights went up. The flashing colors flooded the stage and brought the band into focus, taking Geralt’s breath away just like they always did. 

Jaskier Pankratz stood before his ocean of dyed and pierced admirers, mischief evident in the wry, upward turn of his lips. His black skinny-jeans were almost tighter than seemed physically possible, his blue eyes were lined heavily and his hair was a frazzled mess of brown waves. The burgundy v-neck he wore was a size too large and hung low enough to reveal parts of his sharply defined collarbones. Geralt felt like a man in a Victorian-era romance novel, blushing over the sight of another man’s sternum, but it couldn’t be helped: Jaskier was hot as hell and Geralt had been damned from day one.

_“The bass, the rock,_

_The mic, the treble;_

_I like my coffee black_

_Just like my metal!”_

Jaskier’s glorious voice pitched up at the beginning of the third line and his eyes fluttered prettily closed to reveal just how smudged and smoky his liner really was. _Had he slept in it?_ Geralt felt his slow-beating heart doing somersaults in his chest. He wanted to _know_. He wanted to know if that’s how gorgeous and messy and glorious Jaskier looked _every_ morning. He _had_ to know.

Geralt had been following this particular band since their third stop on the Cintran coast, and now they were halfway to the capital of fucking Redania. He took contracts whenever and wherever he could and slept in his truck to save money. Everything he earned from working was spent on gas, concert tickets, and the occasional hotel room when he really needed to rest and shower.

He’d slept in a real bed and washed his hair thoroughly the night before, spending a little extra time on his appearance in preparation for yet another amazing show. Geralt would never admit it, not even on pain of death, but he had developed a slight (read: _massive_ ) crush on Murder in the Meadow’s lead singer. He could listen to that melodious voice, rough and smoky and sharp around the edges in the best possible way, for a thousand years and never tire of it. 

_“I can’t wait for you to knock me up_

_In a min- a minute,_

_In a fuckin’ minute._

_I can’t wait for you to knock me up_

_In a min- a minute,_

_In a second!”_

Jaskier tossed his head back and forth as he sang; the black, spiked leather collar he wore tight around his neck dug into his pale skin, rubbing it red in a way that had Geralt’s mouth watering. It was probably kind of gross to ogle the younger man like this, celebrity or not. A twinge of guilt darkened Geralt’s brow for a moment before Jaskier’s eyes found his in the crowd and the lead singer shot him a quick wink. _Did that really just happen?_ The Witcher took a step closer to the stage.

_“La la la, la la la, la la la.”_

It hadn’t been a mistake or a trick of the light, it turned out.

_“La la la, la la la, la la la.”_

Jaskier locked his bright blue eyes with Geralt’s. When the whip sound effect played after the final repetition of _la la la_ ’s, the singer jerked his left shoulder forward and parted his bitten-red lips in a silent cry, as if he really had been struck. Geralt felt his mouth go utterly dry all at once and his tongue darted out to wet his lips on instinct. His breath stuttered gloriously and he took another quick step forward, even closer to the stage than he had been before. Closer to Jaskier’s soul-devouring presence. It felt as if the charismatic young performer was the sun in human form, drawing the Witcher to him. 

Murder in the Meadow wound down that song and moved on to the next. And then the next. By the time they reached the fifth song, sweat was making Jaskier’s hair stick to his forehead and his makeup was starting to run slightly. The young brunette got incredibly worked up and emotional while he was performing and Geralt felt the residual energy every time. It was like the bouncy musician was trying to power every battery on the Continent all by himself. 

The band took a quick break for the guitarist to switch instruments and Jaskier popped his head backstage, holding the microphone comically far away from his partially-obscured torso as he did so. After a few seconds he leaned back into view, grinning, and shot the audience a goofy thumbs-up, which was met with a round of confused applause. “How about another one, eh?”

Only a few quick synth beats warned Geralt that his favorite song was about to play before Jaskier’s gorgeous half-whine voice belted out: _“I’ve been denied all the best ultra-sex!”_

_Shit_. 

Jaskier was making eye contact with him again.

_“I’ve been denied all the best ultra sex!”_

A beefy security guard wearing a ‘Venue Employee’ t-shirt was approaching Geralt through the crowd. The Witcher could feel the man’s steady gaze through the tinted lenses of his cheap work-provided sunglasses.

_Oh fucking hell._

Geralt’s golden eyes flickered between the beaming Jaskier and the advancing security officer and he made a quick decision. 

* * *

As he followed a different, taller venue employee into the brightly-lit hallway behind the bar, Geralt heard Jaskier’s voice growing fainter:

_“I played that shit straight,_

_Blowin' suckas on the side hopin' I’d get laid!_

_Now everybody knows,_

_No way in hell I can ever live it down!”_

“Am I in trouble?” Geralt asked.

“Psh, nah. He just wants to meet you.”

“Huh?”

“Mr. Pankratz would like to talk to you, if you’re cool with that.”

“I’m go- I’m going backstage?”

“Uh, yeah? We’re already backstage. You do have to consent to a pat-down, though. For everyone’s safety.”

“Yeah, for sure. Totally cool, yeah.” Geralt’s brain was already shutting down. Short circuiting. Closing up shop. Evacuating the dancefloor.

Jaskier, the lead singer of Murder in the Meadow, his all-time favorite band, wanted to see _him_? Not to sound like an eighth grade girl but he was _giddy_ with excitement. The life of a Witcher was a hard one, and he was more likely to be met with disdain than with kindness, so this was all very exciting and new. He was determined to enjoy it, or at least roll with it to the best of his ability. 

He sat nervously on the arm of an overstuffed Green Room couch after his pat-down and waited, heart racing, for the band to arrive. 

* * *

“So is this like a Lady Gaga’s _Paparazzi_ situation here, or am I looking at more of a Stephen King’s _Misery_ type deal?” Jaskier asked, leaning against the door to the Green Room with more easy sensuality than any human had the right to exude. “Cause if you’re going to murder me you should at least offer to take me to dinner first.”

“Uh…” Geralt blinked. Jaskier looked good up close. _Really_ good. Perhaps even better than he did on stage or in the band’s promotional material.

“Jaskier,” the guitarist, Renfri, scolded the lead singer. “Don’t frighten the poor guy.”

“Yeah,” Essi piped up, twirling her drumsticks absently between her fingers. The bassist, a tired looking young woman with long, long legs shot all three of them a glare. 

“I’m going to bed on the bus. If you-” this was aimed at Jaskier “-decide to get into your usual shenanigans, please book yourself a cheap motel room and let me get my beauty rest. Or I _will_ kill you. Without remorse.”

“Of course, darling Priss,” Jaskier fluttered his eyelashes. “Wouldn’t _dream_ of bothering you, my sweet.”

“Fuck off,” she grumbled. “Goodnight, guys.”

“Night, Priscilla!” replied Jaskier and Essi. Renfri flipped her off and mumbled _spoilsport_ under her breath. Jaskier rolled his eyes and returned his gaze to Geralt. “So, what’s your name?”

“Geralt.”

“Sexy name for a sexy guy,” the singer winked. Geralt flushed as red as possible and stared a hole into the carpet a few feet away. 

“Anyway, Geralt, what’s your poison?”

“Huh?”

“Oh my gods,” Essi groaned. “You can’t just offer everyone booze and drugs right off the bat, Jaskier! What if he’s straightedge?”

The lead singer turned back to look at Geralt again: “Are you straightedge?”

“...No?”

“So do you like weed or alcohol or what?”

“Uh…” Geralt gulped in a breath and shook his hair out of his eyes. “A beer would be cool, but I was just wondering _why_ exactly you called me back here?”

“You’ve been at the last eight shows,” Renfri snorted. “Your hair is kind of hard to miss, dude. The only real question we have is: Which one of us do you want to fuck?” 

The Witcher nearly swallowed his own tongue in surprise. “Ex-Excuse me!?”

“The only reason people follow bands like us around so loyally is if they’re planning our untimely and gruesome demises or trying to fuck us. You don’t seem like the murdering type, so which one of these gorgeous bodies caught your fancy, hm?”

“Well I really _did_ start following you for the music and to get out of the city for awhile, but Jaskier isn’t bad looking, either.” Geralt wasn’t sure where the easy confidence was coming from, but he ran with it. “If that answers your question.”

“It’s always the fucking frontman,” Renfri griped. “Figures. Ah, well.”

She and Essi stood from their seats and made their way towards the door Priscilla had exited through earlier. “See you on the bus, dude.”

“Maybe,” Jaskier wiggled his eyebrows. “Maybe not.”

“Gross,” Essi replied. “Night Jask.”

“Night girls.”

Two bright blue eyes turned their full attention towards the Witcher, whose hands were clenched tightly and anxiously over his kneecaps. The Green Room of the tiny Redanian venue was dimly lit and comfortable but suddenly felt far too warm and small. Jaskier slid onto the couch beside the groupie and brought his hand to gently cup Geralt’s cheek. 

“Would you like a smoke?”

“No thank you,” Geralt practically squeaked. _Is this what preteen girls felt like!?_

“Would you mind if I did?”

Geralt glanced around, freeing himself from the spell cast by Jaskier’s gorgeous baby blues, before shaking his head in the negative. Jaskier led him out through the building’s clearly labeled side door and into the dark alley, where he lit up a joint pulled from somewhere in his pockets. He leaned back against the brick and smoked slowly; Geralt watched, fascinated and terrified. His heart felt like it might pound its way out of his throat.

The huge, battle-hardened Witcher felt like a virginal teenager standing within the musician’s heady presence, and Jaskier was probably 60 years younger than him, at least. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a gorgeous, ring-covered hand splayed across his chest and tested the firmness of his pectoral. The hungry smile beaming up at him left no room for misinterpretation, and neither did Jaskier’s following question: “So, did I misread the situation, or do you want to let me grab your ass and put my tongue in your mouth?”


End file.
